


Healing

by Lily_Amazon



Series: Sparks (WBP oneshots) [4]
Category: One Piece
Genre: Akuma no Mi | Devil Fruit, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, Doctor Fushichou Marco | Phoenix Marco, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fight Scene, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Breakdown, Nakamaship, Panic Attacks, Resilience, Self-Harm, Vomiting, also addressing the sexist WBP's nurse uniform, concussion, graphic description of inaccurate medical procedures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:53:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27579419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lily_Amazon/pseuds/Lily_Amazon
Summary: "She looked at Marco and marvelled at his focus and at the care the Phoenix could show for his hurting crewmates."When their doctor is incapacitated after a fight, Marco has to stand in for her and put his white coat back on. But why did he take it off in the first place?
Relationships: Fushichou Marco | Phoenix Marco & Original Female Character(s), Shirohige | Whitebeard | Edward Newgate & Original Character(s)
Series: Sparks (WBP oneshots) [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1928929
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	Healing

**Author's Note:**

> _Soundtrack:[Rob - Research 26.2](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Smxlg9dTI3U) _

Being a Whitebeard pirate never meant you didn't have to fight. There always was reckless rookies or stupid Marines who wanted to get themselves a name and did unwise things. Like trying to take on the World's strongest man's crew. And, sometimes, said reckless or stupid people were more challenging than the rest of their kind.

It's exactly what happened that day. The Sunken Nose Pirates tried to board them and wreak havoc on their deck. And when Marco came from the navigation room to tell his Father and Captain about the approaching assailants, Whitebeard let them for once. For the sake of his sons' entertainment, he said.

Most of them had cheered at the perspective. Even Namur's sulk had been quickly replaced by a ferocious smile when the first enemies landed, scratching the bulwark with their grapnels. Oh they would pay.

One wouldn't guess a pirate crew could be that organized but the Whitebeards were. You couldn't sail with a thousand people without a dash of discipline after all. And just like there was special manoeuvres and rules to follow during the storms, when the Moby was under attack another plan and other rules came into play.

An alert was directly sent from Izo, in the communication room, to the sickbay while another, relayed through the snailphones, echoed in the armoury, the galley, the shipwrights' room and in each divisions' dormitory.

Jill and a couple of her nurses had to pack their things while the rest of her staff stood in the sickbay, ready to receive and treat the injured crewmembers she might send their way.

Thatch on his hand had to lock the pantry and all the food storages while his staff cleaned the kitchen and made sure everything was secured and wouldn't fall or break if the ruckus on deck turned more violent or if canons were involved.

Haruta and Vista had to split, one staying in the armoury, readying the few people that were there when the other ran to the deck to oversee the fights.

When the Fifth Division Commander came out of the corridor, Marco, Namur, Ace and Izo were by their father's side. Flames shaking with anticipation licked their youngest brother's shoulders as his eyes were glued to the railing. The Eighth Division Commander was giving orders over a baby snailphone, telling the shipwrights that had stayed in the workshop to prepare the materials and equipment for the post-battle repairs. Just like Ace's, the rest of his division were already on deck, seething.

The kimono-clad Commander was casually inspecting his guns while the Phoenix was chatting with their captain. As usual they both looked unfazed and everyone here knew Whitebeard would just watch the fight from his massive wooden chair, enjoying the eagerness and _savoir-faire_ of his children, only releasing mischievous tremors from time to time.

Izo's _den den mushi_ rang and Thatch was on the line telling everything was okay in the galley and that they would stand their ground over there for this one.

When fights occurred not every crewmates were fighting on deck. Half of them were asked to stay inside the ship to protect it. Stationed near every entrance, they were the last shield preventing the crew's defeat. No aggressive strangers were allowed inside the Moby Dick – save perhaps a certain cranky firecracker at the time.

Jill and two of her nurses were awaiting with them. Two more of her girls were stationed with some crewmembers in another corridor leading to the deck, opposite to them, waiting up for the doctor's orders, baby _den den_ on stand-by. They would only set foot on the battlefield that soon would be the ship's deck when they would spot injured crewmembers and had swapped their pink uniforms for something more practical. Running towards a patient while wearing high-heel thigh boots could be a tricky business.

It wasn't long before the combat really started. No grandiloquent speech from the Sunken Nose Pirate's Captain. Just a brutal raid. Enemies' heads emerged from the railing and battle cries were heard. Swords clashed against swords, shots were fired and blue or red flaming fists were thrown. Jill could see from her vantage point, glancing through a door ajar, that those pirates weren't total rookies. They knew how to fight, where to hit. And they were quite a big crew too. The Whitebeards weren't outnumbered yet but they would have to be attentive.

Major part of the First, Second and Fifth divisions were already fighting, holding back the Sunken Nose Pirates, repelling them with all their might. Truth be told, they hadn't had a decent fight in months.

"Make room!" The shout was heard from within the corridor along with thundering footsteps. Pirates emerged, armed, running towards the door and the ongoing fight, doubtlessly called as backups. Jillian and the awaiting pirates pushed themselves against the walls to let them pass.

The door was left wide open and a few moments later, Jill spotted the first crewmembers injured.

"Hayley," she called a red-haired nurse. The woman came closer to her and she gestured toward their next patient. The nurse nodded, reaching for her bag before rushing forward to the battle front. Without missing a beat, a Whitebeard pirate was on her heels.

"Sophia," she called again and the scene repeated itself. When the nurse ran out of the corridor, another crewmember followed her closely.

They weren't bodyguards. She and the Commanders trained her girls to be able to fend their attackers off. But it wasn't rare that once focused on treating a patient you forgot the threats around. And most pirates liked to target the medical staff of their enemy's crew. So it had been decided years ago that when a nurse had to be on the battlefield, a crewmember would linger near-by to limit the difficulties. And more often than not their main task was to haul their injured brother back to the relative safety of a corridor, where he could be swiftly taken care of.

She called Ella next, through the snail phone, when Hayley was coming back, dodging a few attackers, the crewmembers on toe. Nodding to her boss from the door she stood by, the woman did as she was told, a pirate shadowing her.

That faultless procession went on for almost an hour, only interrupted by several backup groups called by their commanders from the bowels of the ship. Nurses came and went, bringing patients in, allowing the treated and level-headed ones to go back to the fights if they felt like it or sending them to get some rest. But when their condition was serious enough, Jillian called the sickbay and they were headed there to receive an even more proper medical care.

"Joan," Jillian spoke to a snailphone mimicking a serious and listening face, "I'm sending you another one. Deep cut on his right thigh. Too close to the artery for my liking. He needs stitches and bandages, you know the drill."

"Roger Boss. Everything's in check over here!" The snail smiled.

"Good." And with that she hung up.

Going back to watching the deck, she noticed some changes. Because of a turn of event she didn't witness, a part of the battle was now raging on the enemy's ship. Fights were still happening on the Moby but the risk of being outnumbered seemed now gone. A good thing.

Whitebeard hadn't moved an inch, eyes joyfully gleaming. Namur was by his side, catching his breath. Fire fists echoed but she couldn't see Ace. Marco flew over deck, a screaming pirate caught in his talons. Haruta was back from the armoury and talking to Ella as she was bandaging someone.

Over here too, Hayley, Sophia and Magda were busy. The latter had joined them on their side of the deck because it would have been too risky to cross it with her patient.

"If all the Commanders were here, the fight would have ended already," Pete from the First Division said.

"But we wouldn't be able to have fun!" someone answered.

"That's true," the pirate said, laughing.

Jillian resumed her observation when a snail phone was heard and Pete picked it up. They were receiving a heads-up and some orders from Marco. It didn't last long, the First Commander being known for his concision.

"Guess we're needed elsewhere," Pete said as he put the small gastropod back to sleep. "You'll be good here Jillian?"

"Yeah, everything's under control. Go!"

Without waiting anymore they all nodded and exited the corridor, leaving her with her nurses and the injured ones. Several minutes passed, the nurses busy, Jill standing guard, keeping track of the ongoing fights until she noticed a wounded crewmate in a cleared corner of the deck.

Quickly assessing the situation, she realised she was the only one available and had no time to wait for backup. Knowing her girls were doing great by themselves, she grabbed her bag and stepped onto the battlefield, head down but keeping all her senses alert, running the length of the wall towards the pirate.

She briefly saw Izo shielding himself with the railing before quickly resurfacing to fire at the enemies. Seemed like a new wave of foes were trying to outflank them.

Finally arriving on the spot, she recognized the crewmember from the Twelfth Division when she kneeled at his side.

"Barton. Can you hear me?"

"Loud and clear," he answered, grimacing as she moved his leg to assess the damage.

"Ok, the bullet's out so pressure point until I find what I need in that bag," she said, applying a compress on his wound until he did it by himself, freeing both her hands so she could search more quickly.

"Found it," she finally said, extracting a tourniquet from her packed belongings, looking up, back at Barton. But all she saw was the terrified look of her patient as he raised a hand to reach something behind her and everything went black.

* * *

When she woke up, the floor was jolting beneath her feet. She tried and opened her eyes only to see an unknown and blurred face. They were speaking but she couldn't hear a thing. Her stomach churned with every movements and she felt like throwing up. Closing her eyes she collapsed, giving in unconsciousness.

* * *

When she woke up again, everything hurt. The ceiling above her was spinning. An impressive headache was making her whole head throb. She could guess she was somewhere safe but she couldn't tell why she would ever feel the need to _feel_ safe. She didn't like that. At all.

Righting herself with some difficulties, a short ringing in her ears was added to everything. Now the whole _room_ was spinning and she felt her heart beat faster when nausea turned her stomach. Clutching the safety barrier of the… Why was she in one of the infirmary's beds?

But she didn't have time to answer that or to wonder about what the hell happened at all. No, all she had the time to do was catch the bucket at her side before she started throwing up.

She thanked all the mightiest deities her hair had been tied somehow, as she emptied the meager content of her stomach. Her belly tensed painfully and she knew something definitely wasn't right.

She was still dry heaving over the bin when a curtain was pulled back, revealing the First Division Commander. Well, a spinning version of it, obviously.

Looking up, not bothering to feel more self-conscious than she already was, Jillian blurted "Gosh, that's a nasty concussion I have here."

"Understatement of the year, yoi," Marco said, handing her a glass of water he took from the nightstand.

Jillian thankfully cleaned her mouth before asking "What happened?"

"You were–" But with the question a part of the events flood back to her.

"Holy shit! Barton!" she screamed as she tried to stand up but was stopped by both pain and a firm hand.

"I'm here Jillian! I'm okay." Barton's voice echoed from a corner of the sickbay and the doctor sighed in relief.

Moving back to the bed with a bit of the Phoenix's help, the seriousness of her condition and symptoms dawned on her and she brought a hand to the back of her head, grimacing when she touched a painful bump.

"So you remember, yoi?"

She slightly shook her head, instantly regretting it. "No. Just Barton and then I wake up here."

She looked up at him expectantly, and Marco scratched his cheek before explaining. "It's been a day already. You've been attacked while treating him. A big bad blow to the head. You went out like a light."

She laid back down but grimaced as something stretched her belly, painfully so. Reaching for it, she lifted her light blue shirt and her eyes went wide.

"What is _that_?" she asked revealing a forming bruise on her abdomen. " _And that_?" She pointed towards dark brown specks splattered all over her shirt. Marco sighed.

"He got to kick you twice before Izo shot him down, yoi."

"I want to see my medical file."

"You won't and you know it."

"But–"

"No buts. I'm the one in charge for now, like we agreed on years ago. So all you're allowed to do today and for the days to come is rest and heal, yoi."

She took several seconds to register it all, overcoming her frustration, before meeting Marco's impassive gaze. "Nothing else happened?"

"Nothing."

"Swear it."

"Jillian…" Marco sighed, a hand ruffling his blond hair.

"I need you to swear it."

"You got hit over the head and then twice in the abdomen. That's all that happened, I promise you, yoi."

Several seconds passed as they looked each other in the eye. Jillian was the first to break eye contact. "Okay. I believe you." She sighed, smoothing her tied hair with the palm of her hand. "Now can I have a clean shirt and blissful oblivion for a while, please?" She had had her fill of spinning people and furniture for now.

"Sure. I can't do anything for the concussion in itself but I can speed the healing process of your wounds. We'll see that when you'll wake up, yoi."

Reaching for something else on the nightstand, he handed her a gown, before disappearing behind the curtain. "I'll be back in ten."

* * *

Jillian had been struggling with her shirt for the last three minutes, one sleeve entangled with the IV and the collar stuck halfway over her head, when she resigned herself to call for help.

"Joan? Anna? Hayley? Whomever here… I need a hand!"

"A hand? What for Jillian? I'm sure I could help," a crewmember voice rang in the sickbay, innuendo clear as day.

"Shut it Jamison or I'll take your painkillers away!" Jillian spoke loudly and earned herself raucous laughs from delighted pirates.

Anna was laughing too when she entered Jillian's kind of private space. "Easy there, Boss. I'll help you."

Disentangling the shirt and the IV, they finally succeeded in removing her shirt and Anna unbuttoned the gown.

"Hold on, I need my bra off." Her declarations was met with whistles and coarse coos.

"Yeah, you guys don't know how uncomfortable it is to wear that while sleeping," she said, rolling her eyes as she put the gown on.

"We wouldn't mind if you stopped wearing one at all, Jillian."

"Nice try, Jamison…" she said loudly before whispering to Anna, "Lower his painkillers' dosage, will you?"

"I'll look into it." The nurse winked before helping her boss laying down comfortably. Man, who thought wrestling with a shirt could be that exhausting. Anna was putting an ice pack on her stomach when Marco came in and she exited.

"Alright time for some sleep, yoi."

"Yes please." Jillian welcomed the darkness with relief.

* * *

When the effects of the sleeping pill wore off, she emerged from her slumber, headache dulled and eyesight blurry. The light had changed in the infirmary, meaning another day had probably begun for a long time by now. She blinked and didn't even have to move her head before the world started spinning again. She felt like she was free falling, unable to steady or catch herself. She grumbled at the discomfort.

It took tens of minutes before someone came by. Joan approached her and aimed a flashlight at her eyes. A painful throb came with the blindness as she swore, hand on her eyes.

"Fuck Joan! Can't you warn me before?"

"Sorry," the nurse said with a voice telling she wasn't sorry at all. "Pupillary reflexes are okay."

"Yeah. No more ringing ears, painkillers are working, the world's still spinning but the nausea is… manageable." Jillian added, summarising the symptoms' list she made to herself when she had opened her eyes earlier.

"Who said once doctors were the worst patients?"

"Yeah yeah… But right now I wouldn't turn away some induced coma," she said deadpan, before chuckling and immediately grimacing, a hand on her stomach.

"We need you awake for a little while. I'm afraid you'll have to grin and bear it Boss."

"Right. Thanks," Jillian answered with a big smile, eyes glaring daggers at the retreating back of her nurse.

She might have dozed off because when she opened her eyes again, she was shivering. She took the ice pack off her stomach and with the numbing of her senses slowly receding, she realised the painkillers' effects had worn off. And damn did it hurt.

She curled up on herself, trying to ease the tenseness in her belly. She felt cold and hot and her trembling wasn't helping with her already throbbing head. She closed her eyes to reduce the spinning and handle the nausea better. But something else was flooding her mind, something she couldn't grasp yet. She tried to breathe calmly but a few whimpers escaped her lips when she exhaled. She was surrounded by her patients, she couldn't afford to be heard or seen any more weakened than she already had been. Locking her jaw, she tried and focused on her breathing once more.

* * *

It's a constant and annoying clinking – echoing in the nightfall atmosphere of the sickbay – that made Marco look for its source and finding it with their doctor. The woman was trembling, eyes closed, a hand firmly gripping one of the safety barrier's bars to the point her knuckles had already turned white. He rushed at her side, calling her name, but she didn't respond. He quickly removed her blanket and pried her hand from the barrier before rolling her on her back, shaking her.

"Jillian. Jillian!" She finally opened her eyes and looked at him, confused. "Jillian, breathe."

And so she did, suddenly gasping for air. A sob racked her whole body, as she tried to curl on herself once more. Keeping calm, he looked into her now lost and panicked eyes.

"It's called shock and it's okay, you'll get through it, just breathe."

She filled her lungs several times like a desperate soul aching for light, tightly clutching Marco's hand. He noticed the trembling finally subsided but her face contorted. "P-Pain…" she stammered.

"Hold on, I'll give you something, yoi." He went to her IV drip and injected some painkillers, but he knew that in her state of nervousness, they could take a while before kicking in.

"There. You should feel better soon but I'll help you a bit," he said as he gently lifted her head only to fully support it onto his hand he rested on the comfy pillow. Flames soon ignited it and he started working his magic.

"Why didn't you call for help?"

"I-I tried. I think. I don't know. It's… fuzzy."

He hummed. "Your mind's finally catching up with all that happened."

"Yeah, I figured so…"

"I was starting to wonder when it would. You couldn't have outrun it by sleeping it away forever."

"Too bad."

Marco snorted. Silence stretched as blue flames crackled. Jillian relaxed in his hold and the connection deepened.

"Damn," he swore. "That's a Hell of a headache."

"Tell me about it… Wait. You can actually _feel_ it?"

"Yeah, kind of… If I focus enough, I can feel the pain the person I'm healing is feeling. Don't know how _you_ can endure that so silently though."

"Well, I guess the girls would totally disagree with you on the silent part. I'm just refraining to be whiny when you're around. I'm a doctor after all, I must behave!"

They both chuckled. "Right, yoi."

Jillian heaved a deep sigh and Marco knew the painkillers were now effective. Dousing his flames, he took his hand back. "Let's try and speed the healing a little for your bruise over there." He gestured towards the hem of her blouse and she lifted it, before he gently applied his flaming hand on her exposed stomach.

She could have felt vulnerable, insecure, uneasy, but she didn't. She looked at Marco and marvelled at his focus and at the care the Phoenix could show for his hurting crewmates. She had witnessed his skills several times but to have them so openly directed at her, that sure counted among the firsts.

"Why do you do this?" she couldn't refrain from asking, effectively breaking his focus as she was still examining his profile. He didn't move, having feeling her scrutinising him. "I mean, you don't have to go all Phoenix's powers on me. Time will heal all that."

"It'll take at least a week for you to stop hurting and even more weeks for this to fade, yoi."

"So what?"

"Yeah, you're right. If you're so happy at the idea of staying in this bed for one more week, who am I to interfere, hm?"

Jillian raised a hand but couldn't muster the strength to say anything. Her hand fell back by her side and silence reigned, heavy.

"Did you check for any internal bleeding?"

"No. We just rolled a dice." He looked at her and it somehow felt like she had insulted him.

"Sorry," Jillian muttered, "professional quirk."

Marco cancelled his flames, pulling her shirt back. "Try and rest. Thatch will bring you some food later." And with that, he left.

And indeed, an hour later, the Chef pulled Jillian out of her thoughts.

"Hey there Jilly! How you doin'?" Thatch's head popped out of the curtain, a silly smile enlarging his face.

"Great obviously." Grumpy Jillian it was. She was frowning, her jaw tensed.

"Brought you dinner," he went on, fully entering, holding a food tray. Dropping it off on the nightstand he plopped down on the bed, facing the doctor.

"So. How are you feeling?" he asked, patting her covered belly.

Jillian took a sharp intake of breath before exhaling in relief. She muttered, cold anger lacing her words, "You're lucky I'm on IV painkillers or else you would be running for your life by now."

"Oops, sorry! Purest ray of sunshine, I see." Thatch chuckled before standing up and placing the awaiting tray on her lap.

"Anyway, this should make you feel better by the minute!" he said, lifting the plate cover and revealing Jill's meal.

"Is that a–"

"Mushroom _velouté_ with a fried egg and slices of bread right out of the oven, yes."

"Thatch…"

"Oh don't mention it! Only the best for our doc' recovery amirite?"

She finally smiled as he was making a dismissive gesture with his hand. Yeah, typical Thatch. Bending over backwards for each and everyone around this ship and always prompt to avoid direct compliments.

She took a spoonful of the slightly steaming soup and hummed at the taste. Thatch smiled and she noticed his own frown, and something foreign shining in his eyes. She was about to question him when he spoke. "Just sit tight and get better okay?" he said as he scratched his goatee, a sheepish look on his face. "You got us all really worried."

Something warmed inside her chest as she straightened and put a hand on Thatch's. "Hey… I'm okay."

"No. You're not. But it's fine! You'll get well soon," he said, trying to smile once again. "We just really hate seeing any of you ladies hurt anyway."

Jill didn't know what to say. She wanted to apologise but knew none of it was really her fault. _Murphy's Law_. Thatch didn't let her the time to say anything as he stood up, gesturing towards the soup, his enthusiasm rediscovered.

"Anyway, I'll leave you to it. Gotta go back and watch over the staff. Last time I was away for too long they drank the rum and burnt my baba, the savages!"

Thatch exited the sickbay, a small smile on his lips and Jill's laugh on his heels.

* * *

The next day had seen slight improvements. The nausea was mostly gone and the throb inside her head had grown weaker too. But the falling sensation and the twinges from her contusion were still there.

Like the previous day, Hayley had come in the morning to help her with some physio. She had walked around the sickbay mostly, sneakily checking over her patients' files when no one was watching. Her almost-non-existent anxiety over the skills and capability of her staff and the First Division Commander had been quelled.

It was right past noon when Marco entered the private space the light pink curtain gave her and saw Jillian examining her abdomen, scalpel in hand.

"I really want to drain this awful bruise," she said, looking back at him, seeing the total freak-out behind his calm facade.

"Do I have to tie you to this bed?" he asked, voice even, refraining from pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Oh yes please. Tie me Commander Marco!" Jillian cooed before laughing and stopping herself almost immediately because it hurt. Sobering, she added, no more trace of humour in her voice, "Seriously, do it. I just want to crawl out of this fucking bed and slip my blouse back on already."

It was Marco's turn to laugh. Coming closer, he gently took the scalpel from her hand.

"Well let's apply some more cold and induce a bit of sleep first, hm?" Saying so, he lifted the doctor's shirt and placed a new cool compress on her bluish-purplish wound. She hissed at the touch but he was already fiddling with her IV drip.

"Nooo... No more sleep please," Jillian whined. "I've had enough rest for the next three months already." Truth was, she now feared what she once welcomed with relief. The irony of it all escaped her. Noticing Marco's lack of reaction as he was inserting a needle in the drip, she changed tactics. "Marco, I swear to God if you give me that sleeping pill I will–"

Marco heaved a sigh as he shook his head. He didn't even have to count to ten, Jill had fallen asleep mid-sentence. He tucked her in and drew the pink curtain back before going to check on the nurses.

* * *

When she woke up – man, wasn't she doing that a lot, recently? –, the spinning had subsided but she still felt dizzy. She went to scratch her itchy eyes but her left wrist was tied to the safety barrier of the bed and an irrational panic filled her mind.

A part of her knew for sure that she was safe here more than anywhere else, but another one just wanted freedom, whispering to her all the sweet little things that could have happened during the time she was unconscious on deck.

She had been hit during that time-frame after all. Twice.

She knew pulling on her restraint would only increase her panic so she bent her free arm over her eyes and tried to even her breathing, silently hiccupping as ever silent tears were rolling down her cheeks. If she could have, she would have felt grateful for the modest but real privacy the curtain gave her.

Later on – _eons_ later, really –, she felt someone coming to check on her more than she saw them, sensing an airflow, hearing the rustling of a curtain being drawn.

She was calmer by now, but the tears wouldn't stop. She hadn't bothered trying to stop them or calling for help. Most of her patients were awake. And when some would call it misplaced pride or foolishness, it was simply beyond her strength to be seen or heard anymore weakened. She was getting better, she could tell it. No need to worry those idiots surrounding her with yet another nervous breakdown. She could wait to be released, her arm still over her eyes, a soothing weight.

"Commander Marco," a voice called, quiet but pressing as it moved away. Yeah, wise decision, better passing the buck onto him. The curtain moved once again and she couldn't help but voice her bitterness.

"Seriously? Seastone handcuffs?"

"Thought it was fitting, yoi. Reminding you of home…" She could hear the faint smile in his voice. When a well-known click resounded, the doctor let out a heavy sound of relief as her now free hand joined her other arm on her eyes. She took a deep breath.

"Well, despite what I said, seems like it wasn't the perfect moment to be shackled after all..." she said, righting herself in the bed as she wiped at her eyes. It caught Marco's attention.

"Jillian, you okay?"

"Yeah. I was just... pondering over life and trying to sort all those post-traumatic existential questions flooding my head. Nothing unusual in the healing process."

She looked at the First Mate and his expression softened.

"Hey," he said grabbing her hand, "you're safe here, yoi."

She squeezed his hand back. "I know."

"Nothing worse happened than what we already told you."

"I know."

"We will always have your back."

"I know goddammit! But I can't help it, okay?!" Her defensive tone and flailing hands were contrasting with the tears appearing and falling from her green eyes.

They both knew all the medical knowledge in the world wouldn't help her overcome what she just went through. She just had to let it go. And she found it harder than expected.

"Why don't you go grab me some water so I can cry in peace?"

And so he did.

* * *

Things were getting better by the days. She could feel it. On her fifth day in the sickbay, only the headache and a mild spinning sensation remained. They had lowered her painkillers' posology and her body was recovering smoothly. It was all way too manageable. She couldn't focus all her attention on that anymore. She couldn't escape, she couldn't outrun, she couldn't silence anymore what was now swirling inside her head.

Maybe it explained the complaining coming with the morning physio. She didn't need to be overlooked to do it properly, thank you very much.

Maybe it explained her growing reluctance to accept Marco's painfully impressive and efficient treatments. Yet she never had the strength to say "No" to his face.

That was why she had moved towards a camp bed they had in her private office in the sickbay, and was now lying flat, head fully supported in Marco's hold. An easier way to do it, for the both of them.

She could feel the coolness of his flames emanating from his warm hands. An interesting contrast.

He was only applying them on the bruise she knew had formed at the back of her head, gently massaging her scalp from time to time, letting his powers slowly do the rest.

Marco could see and sense the tautness in her shoulders and knew from the way Jillian was trying to even her breathing that something was wrong. For a moment he hadn't said anything, putting her behaviour on the mild awkwardness of the situation but he slowly realised it was something entirely else. Whatever she was pulling herself through mentally, it wouldn't do her any good to keep it all bottled up. So he did what he always did. He spoke, instilling just the right amount of authority, gentleness and common sense in his words.

"Just let it go Jill. It's part of the healing process and you know it."

"'kay," she said, nodding, while tears finally tumbled down her temples, falling on the soft mattress. She was taking deep and measured breaths, filling and emptying her belly despite a recurring throb.

"Damn bastard," she swore, breaking the comfortable silence, voice clear of any quavering. "I hate hurting. I feel so useless. All I can do is wait and overthink. Dwelling over what happened over and over again. The fear is gone now, but I can still feel _so_ _much_ anger. It's in there. I can feel it burning. But I can't use it to fuel _anything_. I'm so mad at him for having a go at brutalizing me... But I'm even madder at me for being so careless. I'm part of the medical staff for crying out loud! I can't afford to get injured on the battlefield!"

Her hands fell back to her sides with the end of her outburst.

When the silence prevailed once more, Marco's voice rang, deep and steady.

"Breathe now."

And so she did, focusing back on the air slowly filling her lungs, to the point she fell asleep, at ease.

When she woke up, she was still on the camp bed, a pillow supporting her head and a blanket keeping her warm.

She could hear the familiar hustle and bustle from the sickbay, only slightly muffled by the door of her private office. Looking around, to the filled bookshelves and the neat wooden table, she realised she hadn't been there in ages, having a preference for her desk in the infirmary, where she could overlook everything and everyone in an instant.

At the reminder, she felt a pang in her chest. It would soon be a week. A week as a recovering patient. Her mind and body ached at the perspective of being able to go back to work. She missed the comforting weight of her white coat on her shoulders. She missed checking in with her nurses. Hell, she even missed filling out paperwork!

She shook her head, slightly smiling. She had never been out of duty this long. She had been injured or ill over the years for sure, but never that seriously. Ah yes, she could admit that to herself now, she had been in a worryingly bad shape when she first woke up. A serious trauma. She would have to be overly cautious for the next few battles, looking out for a relapse of any kind. She had seen several fully recovered patients have their PTSD triggered by the perspective of a new fight.

But she knew better than to act all reckless once on the battlefield.

Her back started to ache from lying still. She decided it was time to move and sat up. Her bare feet brushed the cool wooden floor. She stood up slowly, fearing a dizzy spell but only felt a little light-headed. The room wasn't spinning. A huge relief washed over her.

She headed quietly for the door. They had removed her IV this morning and it still felt strange moving without restraint. She had grown used to that slightly uncomfortable burden linked to her, following her every move.

She knew by the tenseness of her belly and the dulled ache pulsing at the back of her head that whatever she had been given had worn off by now. But it all felt bearable. For now.

A hand on the doorknob, she realised the hubbub had died down. Opening the door, she silently trode through the row of cots to reach her own. A glass and a pitcher of water were awaiting on her nightstand and she drank thirstily. She could hear coughs, snores and quiet chatters coming from different spots in the sickbay. Putting the glass back on the small table, she walked towards her desk.

Pens, paper sheets, empty vials and other stuff had been left on it carelessly. She spotted her stethoscope and brushed it fondly. Several medical files were piled up on a corner but she didn't dare touch them. Leaning against the wooden surface, she took in her surroundings.

Ten or so pirates were still there, awake or not. No one in critical state from the look of it. Jamison was gone. The girls were probably having a break and Marco was nowhere to be seen. She had to seize the opportunity. Pushing herself off the desk, she went and rummaged through several cabinets until finding everything she needed.

When she had gathered all the ingredients, she went back to the desk and put them down on the clean surface. She sat in her comfy wooden armchair and was about to begin when her head suddenly felt heavy. She closed her eyes, breathing in and out. _Come on girl, get it together_.

The pressure eventually faded back to a minor throb. Taking her heavy mortar from one of the shelves above the desk, Jillian set to work.

It had been a while since she last prepared a salve. Most of the time she would now let that to Dany, who really enjoyed making them. But today she had felt the urge to do it all by herself. And as she added all the ingredients one after the other, mixing them, kneading the forming blend, she knew she hadn't lost her touch.

She loved the rasp yet wet sound of the pestle against the mortar. Stone scraping stone, an appeasing chant.

Her arms began to ache from the exertion, a longed-for strain.

A rich scent of herbs and oil reached her nose and the memories flooded back to her. From the very first time Elli taught her, each and every step. She pictured her hand in his as he showed her and smiled.

Pausing her pounding, she hummed and took the glass she had poured herself. She leaned back in her seat, marvelling at the calm atmosphere.

"Never knew whiskey was part of the healing balm, yoi." Jillian jumped at the voice, before looking into the amused eyes of the Phoenix, standing in the doorframe.

"Meds have worn off," she said. She swallowed a mouthful before clicking her tongue. "Thought I could indulge myself a little and have som– Hey!" she protested when Marco took the glass from her hand and gulped its content down.

"Damn… It's good."

"Of course! It's Elli's!" He smiled at her tone. He could tell she was pissed, but she resumed her preparation nonetheless and he simply stood there, waiting for her to finish it.

Once she was done, she asked for a little privacy while she applied the cream on her bruise. He gave her, retrieving some files and moving away to the corresponding patients.

She hissed at the coldness of the balm against her skin but went on until a decent layer was covering her slowly fading bruise. Its edges were yellowish now. _Lovely_.

She was about to put her gown down but was interrupted. "Don't," said Marco softly as he came closer and showed a roll of gauze he had in his hand. "So you won't smear it all over the place," he added as he kneeled by her side and started unfolding the dressing.

He gave her an end and started bandaging her abdomen, careful to not make it too tight. When he deemed the surface protected enough, he cut the exceeding gauze and fixed it with a plaster. "There, yoi," he said as he stood up, discarding the tools on the desk.

"Thanks," Jillian said in turn as she rose to her feet and swayed, only to catch herself on the desk. Marco's hand was to her elbow in an instant. "Easy there."

"I'm fine," she answered mindlessly. "You're the one who drank my whiskey, remember?"

The First Mate chuckled. "Yeah, sorry about that… Don't tell Elli, okay?"

The doctor shook her head, hiding a smile. "Can't promise anything."

"Fair enough... All right, let's get you some rest, yoi."

Jillian nodded and he helped her back to her bed. She felt the fatigue of the day finally dawning on her. She hadn't done that much – compared to what she used to do during a normal healthy day – but knew that in her state she would tire more easily. She was still recovering after all. And she would be for a small while still.

She sat before lying down as Marco let her get comfortable. "How's the pain? Do you need anything?"

"I'll manage for now, thanks." She yawned as she pulled the covers over her chest. Marco quietly laughed and she closed her stinging eyes. She would not need any sleeping pill tonight.

She could hear Marco refilling her glass of water before she felt him tucking her in, patting gently the covers.

A small smile stretched her lips and, eyes still closed, she sighed before mumbling "You would have been such a great doctor." She sounded disappointed and proud at the same time. It ruffled Marco's not-so-metaphorical feathers.

"Hey, I still am," he answered with a snort. "Just not full time, yoi."

"Right," she said feebly, turning her back to him, not wanting to argue about it now. She felt a bit too drained for that. As did Marco, not really in the mood for any kind of debate.

Gently drawing the curtain, he went back to the desk to clean the mess.

* * *

Despite her best efforts, Jillian couldn't go back to sleep. She slept a few hours before she opened her eyes again and just couldn't rest anymore. She was feeling well, not hurting anywhere, but Marco's last sentence kept replaying in her mind and she just couldn't let it go. Because he was right.

No matter what you say or what it looks like, you can never quit being a doctor.

Marco would always be the first doctor of Whitebeard's crew. _Ever_. And while she was now cool with that, it had been a real shock when she found out.

* * *

It was somewhere along her sixth month after joining the crew. She had grown accustomed to all the ship's rules and to the sickbay's functioning. She was getting along well with the nurses and Bern, the ship's doctor at that time. All in all, everyone had been really welcoming and her eagerness to learn more about medicine and the outside world just thrived.

And it was around that time that Bern had wanted her to learn about the crew from a medical viewpoint. He would give her fourteen patients' files each week and ask her to read and memorize what was most important in them. There weren't more than a seven hundred relevant files at that time. It took her almost a year. She learned about the medical condition of almost everyone on board, including the commanders and her soon-to-be staff.

The last week of her training, as Thatch liked to label it, she only received one folder. The thicker one, she could tell in a glance. "The Captain's," Bern simply said. She knew she would have to take her time reading that one. She didn't want to miss anything.

And she spent the gloomiest week on board since she first joined, understanding the seriousness of Whitebeard's health condition. Age was something they, doctors, couldn't really do anything about. But she pushed through, reading it to the end and finally handing it back to Bern. She answered his questions and he hers. And that was that. End of her training.

But the night after, when she lay in the dark, barely able to make out the ceiling, thinking about all those files, all those people, she realised she was missing one. Shock washed over her and she had to refrain herself from jumping out of her bunk and barging in Bern's bedroom right there and then.

"What about Marco's?" was how she greeted the doctor the next morning. And he simply smiled, retrieving a folder from one of his desk's drawers before presenting it to her. "I wondered if or when you'd ask" was all he said.

She briefly asked herself why a man with self-healing powers would have a thicker file than the average pirate – even if it couldn't rival Whitebeard's – but took it from Bern's hands nonetheless.

"You'll have plenty of time to read it later so don't lag behind and give us a hand, eh?"

She growled inwardly but complied with the doctor's order. Time flew by and she jumped on the occasion of her lunch break to isolate herself from the rest of the staff. Going back to the girls' dormitory, she climbed back to her bunk and sat beside her usual porthole. She had little time to go through Marco's file but wanted to make the best of it. Opening the folder, she almost choked on her sandwich.

The first page was a quick summary of the patient's general condition along with a brief history of his life before and after joining the crew. There, spelled out, Marco's status as a new recruit. Navigator and physician.

The Phoenix had been the Moby Dick's first doctor. Several questions swirled in her mind: why wasn't he anymore? How come she learned about it just now? What happened to make him resign from his position? But for the time being, she had no one to ask them to, so she went past it and resumed her reading. And there again, another major discovery awaited her.

After the patient's description came the medical file in itself, describing all minor and major events regarding their health. Usually symptoms and treatments and reactions to said treatments. Marco's fitted on the front of the page. No surprises really, considering his powers, but it didn't explain why his folder was so thick. Skimming over that page that only mentioned a few seastone related injuries, she found several other pages not at all about treatments he received but treatments he _gave_.

She couldn't believe it at first, but it was there. Written. Inked. Someone had kept track of crewmates Marco _healed_. Now the little 'M' scribbled after some crewmates prescriptions made much more sense.

New questions filled her head and she was about to bury her nose back in the pages when the whole ship shook and a loud detonation was heard. Snailphones immediately relayed the alarm.

Looking through her porthole she saw an approaching vessel with a marine flag. "You gotta be kidding…" she said in a huff but closing the file all the same before jumping out of her bunk, back to the wooden floor. She only hoped she would find time to talk to Bern before or after the incoming mess.

The situation went back to normal in the afternoon, and after cleaning everything up and checking on each and every patient, Jill finally had a small window of time to go and ask Bern about Marco's file and her discoveries. But she didn't receive what she expected.

"This file's no different from the others, Jillian," the old doctor said. "You read it all first. And only then, when you're finished, you can come and ask."

She had let out an indignant sigh but went back to her duties nonetheless. She was on call for the earliest part of the night and had never felt more grateful to see Magda coming to relieve her.

She rushed back to the dormitory and her bunk and spent the night reading, an oil lamp wedged on the porthole's sill.

She analysed the file like it disclosed Laugh Tell's final route, savouring it like a juicy mystery novel. How indecent yet riveting it was, learning about Marco like this… Damn everything she thought or said this past year, medical files were awesome.

Of course it was a huge contrast with Whitebeard's worrying file but something with Marco's weighed on her mind. She read it over and over, focusing on the healing chart that went on for fifty pages or so, logged precisely and chronologically.

There were pages and pages of healing for both minor and rather serious injuries on a weekly or monthly basis and then, after three years or so, it slightly decreased. The healing after that seemed to focus on concerning to serious injuries only. The report was then spaced yet regular, not raising any suspicion but Jillian noticed an abrupt stop for months, somewhere around two years after the previous stabilization. After that, the log seemed to go back to somewhat normal, except that for the years that followed and still to this day, Marco's interventions had been really scarce, almost only when the patient's life seemed at stake. The one exception was Edward Newgate, whose son helped ease his pain more or less regularly over the last few years, she found out reading the last page of the log.

It didn't make any sense. Why would Marco slow his pace in the first place? Maybe it was at that time that Bern joined them… But it didn't explain why Marco would quit his position. Or why they needed to recruit a new physician to begin with. And more importantly: why would Marco stop healing his crew all of a sudden? And for months! She couldn't fathomed what happened.

She had finally found what bugged her in this log. Jillian swallowed a frustrated scream. She didn't want to wake her colleagues. She would have to wait for tomorrow to get answers, and she knew who to get them from. Dousing the lamp's light and putting Marco's file away, she tried to fall asleep.

Despite her previous frustration, Jillian didn't get up to the thought of getting answers. She went about her day knowing she would find some time to go and talk to Marco. She wasn't stalling by any means, she was just thinking about the best way to ask him and found it harder than expected.

Not to mention the fact that the First Commander seemed in a not-so-pretty sour mood today. Of course, like everyone else around, Marco had bad days. But if Jill allowed herself to say it, the man was having a series of bad days lately. Crewmates fighting, problems with the ship's maintenance, problems with supplies, late paperwork, everything was piling up, everyone seemed to need him for one thing or another. And alas today was no different, if the few times she came across him by total utter and complete accident were of any indication.

During the past few hours indeed, every time Jillian mustered the will to approach Marco, she saw him with a crewmate, rather busy and never losing his frown. And every time, she was only brave enough to withdraw from his view.

It was stupid of course. It had been more than a year and half, things had changed for sure, she had proved her worth on countless occasions and wasn't met with Marco's silent disapproval anymore. But a small part of her still feared him, wanting nothing but to remain on his good side. And she realised she didn't want to disappoint him or make him angry even more so now that she knew who he had been.

He was the First Mate and the first doctor of the Whitebeard's pirates. His opinion and his words mattered to her. She admired him, so cool, so collected, swift to act, skilled and powerful. And, even if for a while he thought she didn't belong with them, he had never underestimated her, not even once. When looking at him, she felt grateful and intimidated.

Of course she knew by the way older crewmates addressed him that one day would come where she would feel less fascinated, find him more approachable. But for now the prospect of going to him to ask him rather personal things made her nervous. Yet… She wanted answers. She wanted to know, to understand what brought him here, to really truly understand how his powers worked and to what extent. For science.

Gathering her courage once more, she finished bandaging a hand a bit too harshly and muttered a sorry before exiting the sickbay. Stepping out on deck, she spotted Marco, his frown showing just how pissed off he was, and… deflated. Abruptly turning over before even making eye contact with him she rushed into the galley.

The large room was empty, save some crewmates enjoying their break with a cup of coffee or a mug of rum. She could see Thatch working behind the kitchen's counter and walked towards him. If for now Marco belonged to the scary category, Thatch on the other hand was one of the most open people she ever met. Always smiling and ready for some casual chat. She hoped today was no exception as she leaned against the door frame, greeting him.

The Fourth Division Commander was busy baking for the upcoming dinner but welcomed her warmly nonetheless. Several cooks were working in the depths of the kitchen. When their small talk smoothly died down, Jillian finally asked him what was on her mind.

"Did you know Marco… Ah. You're the closest thing he has to a brother, of course you know!"

"What do I know, Silly Jilly?" the Chef asked in turn, kneading some bread dough.

"That we have a _healing_ turkey on board."

"Oh that!" He chuckled. "Yeah, I know. He helped me with a few cuts and burns over the years." He said it so casually that she couldn't even be shocked.

"So what's the deal?"

"The deal?"

"Yes. Why did he stopped healing the crewmates?"

The man stopped his own work to look her in the eye. "Er, it's not really my place to say Jillian." He scratched at his forehead, smearing it with flour. "Why don't you ask Marco, hm?"

"I tried already! To no avail…" she lied. Thatch sighed, resuming his kneading.

"Look, just know that he never wanted to stop but _we_ forced him to. And that's not something he really likes to talk about."

"You… Okay… So, what happens when he heals you? Is it an instant thing or does it takes time? How does it feel?"

"It's cool," he said before raising his eyes and seeing Jill rolling hers. "Like cold, silly. Depending on the injury it can be an instant healing, yes. But I don't really know how it works though. You really should go and ask him. He can be grumpy but he won't send you flying, eh!"

Jillian nodded, briefly pondering over it, staring into space before snapping out of it and excusing herself. Of course she was silly, she was another Whitebeard's doctor in the making, if she had questions regarding a medical matter she could demand answers from anyone, rank or admiration be damned. Cursing her doubts, she exited the galley and went to seek Marco out.

She found him rather quickly, features softened, relaxing against the Moby's railing.

"Jillian," he greeted her with something akin to a forced smile.

"Bern gave me your medical file. Why did you quit being the crew's doctor?" There. She said it.

She saw him slowly resume his frowning.

"I wasn't a doctor to begin with but I could keep up thanks to my powers and a first-aid crash course. Once our family really started to widen and I shouldered more responsibilities as First Mate and navigator, Pops chose to recruit Bern and some nurses."

The woman nodded, silently surprised by Marco's willingness to answer her. Not getting flustered, she went on. "I get that but why did you stop healing your brothers as frequently as you did before Bern joined?"

This time, the First Division Commander couldn't hide a grimace. "Bern took charge of all the minor injuries I dealt with on a daily basis, so I wasn't needed as much as I was before, yoi. And… Pops, the Commanders and I made a deal, sort of."

Sensing she wouldn't be able to dive deeper into it for now, Jill smoothly switched gears. "Okay... What about your healing powers then? How does it work? Could you show me?"

Marco repressed a tired sigh, leaning more heavily against the railing, gazing at the deep blue sea. "It's linked to my Devil Fruit. I can regenerate myself and I can help others do the same. It's not healing strictly speaking because the Phoenix flames are more efficient on me than on other people but it still helps them healing faster. And no, I can't show you, unless someone is seriously injured, yoi."

"I see… Thatch told me about burns and cuts…" Jillian said, finally leaving Marco out of her sight, mimicking his position against the railing.

"I helped him a few times, yeah," was the only answer she received. A lukewarm silence ensued. Marco's elusiveness was starting to grate on her nerves.

"I wish I could know how it feels when you heal..."

"Why, yoi?" he asked, turning his head to look at her.

"Because it's like… finding out about a puzzle with some missing pieces. I want that puzzle to be whole but I can't complete it alone." She paused, looking for words to convey what she felt deep down since first learning about Marco's ability. "It's just… like when you hear about a new treatment. You're curious about it. You want to know how it works, how it feels when administered, how long it takes to be effective, what would be the benefits and consequences of such treatment, if there's any side effect, in which case it's more appropriate to use it…" She trailed off, lowering her gaze.

"So now I'm just another medicine to you, yoi."

"Yes. No! A part of you _is_. A part of you can help people healing. And I want to understand that, truly, completely. I want to be able to ask for your help knowingly. Not just because I know you can help, but because I know precisely what your power will do to my patient."

"Well, then," Marco said, righting himself, "you better go and ask Bern. We've been through it together years ago, yoi." Turning his back on her, he motioned to leave and Jillian saw red. The Gods knew she had offered him countless openings but it wasn't enough apparently.

"Why are you slipping away like that?" she shouted, losing her cool, stopping him in his tracks. "I know Bern could tell me almost everything but why can't _you_ tell _me_? I'll be his successor. Am I still not worthy enough that you won't condescend to reply to me the way you did when _he_ asked you? Or do I have to cut myself open to finally get the answers that I want?"

Marco's stunned face and a seemingly never-ending silence met her angry words and something really stupid blossomed in her mind.

"So that's what it takes, huh?" she said, eyes strangely shining as she reached inside one of her white coat's pockets.

"Jillian…" Marco finally broke the silence, wariness clear in his tone.

But she didn't listen to him, grabbing the scalpel she carried with her at all times. Easily removing its safety cap, she took it out of her pocket.

Marco's eyes widened as he started to run back to her but it was too late and the woman cut through her right palm.

"Jillian!" His shout was muffled by her own. The scalpel fell, clattering on the wooden deck.

"There," she finally muttered between her clenched teeth, standing straight, cradling her injured hand while giving him a fierce look.

The Phoenix painfully grabbed her shoulders, anger deforming his features. "Are you insane?"

She locked her jaw as the pain erupted once more and looked at the cut. The blood seemed to throb out of her in sync with the deafening beating of her heart, echoing in her ears. Damn, that hurt. But hopefully, she hadn't done it in vain. With this thought, she met Marco's furious eyes and uttered in a short breath, "Can you show me, now?"

"Please," she added soon after even if it sounded strangely out of place.

At that, Marco seemed to regain a semblance of calm and let go of her. "Oh no." A sour laugh escaped his lips. "You could be bleeding to death for all I care. I'm not wasting my energy on reckless women like you." The man was literally seething and Jill thought she caught sight of a bluer shimmer in his gaze. Okay, bad plan. She was bleeding all over the place now and she could feel her legs going weak from the pulsating pain. She blinked several times and breathed through her mouth to keep her mind clear. Her injured hand spasmed reflexively and she cursed, looking back at it. "Shit."

Marco's jaded sigh reached her ears as he took her hand in his, quickly gauging the extent of the injury. "Hold your left arm out, yoi," was all he said and she complied. With a swift and strong pull he tore up her coat's sleeve and crumpled it into a ball before holding it in front of her. "Come on, pressure point."

As she complied once more, applying pressure on the cut with her unharmed hand to try and staunch the haemorrhage, he took her by the elbow and dragged her inside the ship, not minding her gasp nor the curious audience that had gathered on deck.

Marco led them towards the sick-bay, Jillian struggling to match his fast pace while still applying pressure on her wound. He pushed the door open and looked to Bern to catch his attention, the doctor always facing new comers on instinct.

"Bern, we're taking your office," the Phoenix said already dragging Jillian towards another closed door.

"Suit yourself Marco!" The doctor answered as they disappeared inside.

Sitting Jillian on one of the patient's chair facing Bern's desk, Marco went back out to grab some supplies. She could hear the quiet chatter of the nurses, the clattering of some vials and a patient coughing through the open door. The throbbing pain in her palm had turned to a sharp one, a good sign.

"Do you need a hand?" she heard Bern ask in the distance.

"No, l'll manage, thanks," was Marco's answer as she heard him coming back.

"As you wish. Deep breath, boy!" The old doctor exclaimed as the Phoenix slammed the door shut.

"The Maiden knows I'll need it," he muttered before actually breathing out and surrendering to the silence for five never-ending seconds. Once he was done reining himself in, he closed the distance between Jillian and him, sitting by her side on the other chair. He discarded the surgical tray on the desk and started opening a suture kit. She realised he had taken the time to wash his hands and put a pair of gloves on.

Finally facing her, he removed the now blood-soaked sleeve from the wound and examined it.

"The scalpel made a clean cut. It's not deep enough to have severed the palmar arch or any ligaments or tendons. Seeing spasms earlier I guess you didn't damage any nerve either." He brushed against the intact skin of her palm.

"Lucky you" rang in the silence like an evidence and Jillian felt the urge to protest.

"I'm not stupid enough to try and cripple myself."

"Could've fooled me."

The blow landed and she clenched her jaw. Marco let go of her hand and reached for the disinfectant. "You're still bleeding a bit but you'll only need a single layer suturing, yoi."

He disinfected her palm around the cut, before reaching for a syringe and a vial of anesthetic.

"I'll need no more than five or six stitches. I can do without-"

"Don't try me now, Jillian," he said injecting said anesthetic in a first point, jaw set. He injected the fluid in five more places around the cut before letting go of her hand.

They waited in an uneasy silence until her hand was numb enough and he set to work, starting by cleaning the wound with a saline solution. The way he dabbed at her cut to wipe off the now dried blood made her deeply grateful for the anesthetic.

He then took a nylon thread, to which the curved needle was already welded, a needle driver and a forceps. Jillian scrutinized his every move as he made the first stitch, inserting the needle at a 90 degrees angle before reaching for the other hand of the cut with the forceps and piercing through once more. Still using the needle driver he made a first knot, careful not to make it too tight and thus prevent blood flow.

"A simple interrupted stitch… Why not a horizontal mattress stitch?"

"Let's stick to the basics, hm?" he replied, tying three other knots in order for the nylon thread not to slip. Snipping the loose thread, he carried on with the second stitch.

Silence reigned once more, heavy for Jillian, focused for Marco. He couldn't believe she had done something so reckless to herself out of frustration, because of his muteness, of his growing uneasiness at the perspective of broaching some particular subjects. He had not really intended to run away like that but he told her the truth. Bern would've been more than happy to tell her everything she wanted to know about him, about them. Even with the way she talked to him, he had not understood how much she had taken all this at heart. A stupid mistake.

Jillian stood still, hand on the desk as Marco was busy patching her up. She was seated but she could feel the strain on her legs, the exhaustion in her arms. The adrenalin was now out of her system. She shivered slightly. She felt stupid of course, but she would be fine. What was a small scar in a pirate life if not a proof of resilience? Right? But a tiny part of her was replaying the scene. What if she had cut herself more deeply? What if something had gone wrong? She knew herself of course, but in the heat of the moment… What would they do with a crippled doctor? But Marco's attitude had been… Seeing him slip away like that, as if she was a nuisance, unworthy of his time… She had all the reasons in the world to saw red like she did. Yet… Where did her common sense go when she decided to make such a fool of herself? And what for? Fucking stitches!

Shame burned her eyes as she fought the tears off. Now was not the time. Crying would feel like guilt-tripping Marco, manipulating him to soften his temper, and she wouldn't be able to bear the sight of a sympathetic Marco without breaking even further down. Where was her debilitating admiration now?

It's a blanket that Marco draped over her slightly shaking shoulders that made her realise he had stopped treating her in the middle of his suture. She muttered a thanks and heard him close the medical cabinet before coming back to her. She needed the distraction so she focused on his skilled hands, the way they moved, striking her as a younger and slightly harsher version of a certain pair of hands that belonged to a certain someone on a certain island. She remembered what he said before.

"Is that why you stopped using your powers on the others?" she couldn't help but ask, as he started tying the second knot of her third stitch.

He didn't bother to answer so she went on. "Because it took too much of your energy?"

A deep sigh echoed in the closed office as he briefly rested his wrists on the desk, before resuming his task. "I have self-restorative powers. With those closed stitches, I could heal you right away and you would only have a small scar left tomorrow. Hell, I could have carried on like all those past years. Nothing a good night sleep wouldn't help me cure. But if I had, it would have worried them. And as First Mate I intend to avoid worrying my crew more than necessary, yoi."

"So Thatch was right. The crew forced you to stop healing them carelessly," Jillian guessed and Marco finally looked her in the eye.

"To this day I've never seen it as a careless act. But…" He sighed again before resuming. "I understood their concern and realised it wasn't worth it."

He looked like someone who had made his peace with his mistakes.

"What really happened Marco?"

The man sighed once more, knowing he couldn't avoid the subject anymore. He went to scratch at his forehead but remembered he had gloves on and stopped his motion, annoyed.

"My healing isn't careless but _I_ was, yoi. Back when Bern hadn't joined yet, I healed on demand, juggling between that and my duties as navigator and First Mate. When it became less manageable, a bit more tiresome, we hired Bern and some nurses and I was told to send all the crewmates their way. But I just couldn't." He shrugged, shaking his head. "When they came to me, be it for a cut, a burn, a sprain or even a bruise, I just agreed and used my powers. I knew I shouldn't have but it felt like… Turning my back on them, you know? So I healed them, behind Bern's back."

Jillian shook her head in turn, frowning. "But your log shows a clear drop of healing after Bern's arrival."

"It's just paper, Jillian. At that time, I only logged the fourth of my healings, yoi. And it worked, Bern had patients and I had more times for 'First-Mating' without forsaking my duties as a healer. And it went unnoticed, until… Until a battle day." He exhaled, readying himself as he focused more and more on her hand and the next stitch.

"I can't remember why but it had been a tough week. I had healed a lot of crewmates, slept too little because of the shifts we had to take and I was worried about our path and the weather… And then: the Marine, three or four ships, detonations everywhere, everyone on deck fighting, me in the air overlooking everything, Pops' shock waves making it difficult to even fly… And when it was all over, when we resumed our course and sailed away while the last soldiers were trying not to drown, it was time to heal our family, dealing with the most pressing injuries, pushing through until each and every one was deemed safe enough. That's when it happened: I finally went to bed but in the morning I couldn't wake up. I slept a day and a half before waking up in the sickbay, feeling perfectly fine. I can imagine now, the shock and fear they must have felt when finding me unconscious…"

He cut the loose thread of the fourth stitch and started the fifth. He hadn't sutured in ages but he was silently glad it all came back so easily.

"So that's it, yoi. I simply overworked and frightened my crew... I went past my limits without noticing it, ignoring the signs, adding to my previous exhaustion again and again. But they didn't know that. Until a Meeting. Because they wanted answers. Pops commanded me to spill everything. And I did. They found out about the clandestine healing and they lost it. Jozu almost broke our table with his diamond fist. 'They're pirates, not mere civilians. If they can't handle a few cuts here and there without running after you to heal them, then they should reconsider being pirates at all!' he said. And Izo agreed, looking sternly at me, arms folded. 'I couldn't agree more Marco, you're tiring yourself out for pointless purpose.' That's when I snapped. Because I just wanted to help and they were being dramatic, overreacting even though I was feeling fine. Hearing them labelling it a pointless purpose felt like they were trampling my commitment underfoot. And I lived for my crew. I still do."

He offered her a small sheepish smile.

"Things got ugly pretty quickly and Pops intervened. He sided with them and ordered me to step back. For real. 'From now on, you will only help Bern when he asks you to. No more transgressive healing somewhere else in the ship.' he said, with that look on his face, defying me to protest. Yet I obeyed. Not because I understood but because it was my Captain's order. At the end of the meeting, I went with Bern and he told me about their fright, their helplessness, how lost they had looked like for a day and a half without their First Mate, their brother. He told me they said harsh things because they cared. And I finally understood, yoi. I didn't accept it, feeling they were fussing over a mishap, making a big deal of something I woke up from unscathed, but I understood. And as the responsible one around"–he smiled again, more warmly this time–"I chose to listen to them and to avoid worrying them the best I could. So Bern and I set rules, conditions. And that was it."

He had stopped suturing to look at her, he realised he had never talked to her that much but he hoped she would understand now. And she did. She shook her head in thanks as he resumed the stitches and gave her time to process everything.

Jillian pondered over what she learned, grateful Marco opened himself to her, until something came back to the front of her mind: "Wait… You said the Captain chose to recruit Bern and a few nurses. So who chose those ridiculously sexist uniforms? Whitebeard? Bern? You?"

The needle driver slipped from Marco's grip as his cheeks got redder. He felt the woman's intense gaze on him but couldn't raise his eyes to meet hers. From day one on board she had protested against the nurses' required uniform, seeing nothing practical about the short pink dresses and the leopard print thigh boots, calling it a degrading costume even though, as a doctor, she didn't have to wear it. But her recriminations had been brushed aside, everyone telling her she could decide of the nurses' outfit once she'd be in charge. Which she did, when Bern sailed back to Paradise, giving her staff the choice to wear what they wanted, as long as it was appropriate in battle situations. Some of her girls had grown attached to this uniform, some others ditched it at the first occasion. Needless to say many crewmembers had disapproved.

Marco scratched his cheek before taking the needle driver back, setting to work. "Let's blame youth, yoi," he quietly answered.

"What? I can't believe it!" Jillian exclaimed with a small laugh, shaking her head. The tension lessened around them and she relaxed back in her seat, keeping her hand still.

As he was tying the sixth stitch, Marco told her about Bern's rules, how he shouldn't be called unless necessary except if the Captain needed him and how he would be the doc in charge if Bern were to be harmed and incapacitated.

He finished suturing with a seventh stitch and then bandaged her hand. Jill could feel the anesthetic starting to wear off.

"There. All done. And here's your lesson: you can't expect me to barge in and save your day whenever you hurt yourself. It's not my job anymore. And yours is to remain safe at all costs, so you can heal our crewmembers, as part of the medical staff. You can't afford to get injured, yoi."

She stayed silent as he rose to his feet. "Now, I'll let you clean this mess," Marco said, gesturing towards the desk, "and you wait for me here once you're done."

The door closed quietly and Jillian retrieved the needle holder and the forceps, setting them aside to be sterilized later. She then packed the needle, syringe and all the medical waste away, in a dedicated box they would get rid of at the next stopover. She folded the blanket, put it back in the cabinet and, since Marco wasn't back already, she retrieved an analgesic from a drawer, poured herself a glass of water from the pitcher on Bern's desk and sat down, waiting.

Now that everything was back in order, Jillian felt exhausted. She was glad Marco talked to her, glad she got the answers she wanted but she regretted the lengths she had had to go to get them. She just wanted to walk back to her dorm and rest but somehow knew that was not what the First Mate had planned for her.

Indeed, a few minutes later, Marco came back with a bucket and a brush telling her to follow him. They didn't go as far as the infirmary's corridor when the man put all he was holding down at her feet. Gesturing towards some discrete stains on the floorboard he said, "That's your blood all over the place and no one will clean it in your stead. You will follow that trail and clean after yourself."

She was about to say something but he cut her off. "And. If you want to open your mouth to do anything else but comply, I'll make you clean the whole deck. Twice."

The woman nodded in understanding and set to work as Marco left, telling he would catch up with her later. When she crossed path with some crewmates she only earned curious or sympathetic stares. They left her on her own and she discovered the hidden power of cleaning. Such a boring and repetitive task your mind could wander. Busying your hands yet allowing your brain to run free… Or dwell on your past actions.

Oh and she cried while mopping the wooden floor, erasing all to the last bloodstain, the extent of her recklessness finally dawning on her. It had been hard owning her mistakes but she cleaned her mess, sorted things out, alone, like the big girl she pretended to be.

The sun was setting the horizon ablaze, gently drying the tears on her cheeks when Marco finally interrupted her. He had been sitting apart on the railing for a while, silently observing. Seeing shame and shock overshadowing the soon-to-be doctor's features as she absentmindedly wiped the deck, he knew she had learned her lesson.

She had put the bucket away but could feel by the dull throbbing of her injured hand that she had pulled way too much on her stitches. When she told Marco, not meeting his gaze, head down, he brought her back to the sickbay to patch her up once more. He removed the blood-soaked bandage and engulfed her hand in cold blue flames, leaving her with nothing but a scar just like he said.

* * *

Jillian looked at the thin white scar that crossed her palm and smiled. She didn't know how she managed not to bawl her eyes out that night Marco healed her for the first time. Another proof he was a good man, a good doctor. Another proof if they needed it that he couldn't have resigned of his position that easily.

It bugged her somehow. She, that had never known anything else but medicine in her life. She, that couldn't picture a life or a single day where she wouldn't put that thick white coat on. How come someone could give that up? How come it didn't ate at you slowly but constantly every passing day?

She remembered asking him one day, some years ago. Once Bern had set sail for the calmer seas of Paradise aboard a Mini Moby, leaving the crew in her care. She had been lost in thoughts, overthinking about her new position.

"Are you… comfortable with that now?" she said, not aware enough to care and express herself more clearly.

"With what, yoi?"

"Staying on the medical side-lines."

He chuckled at the look she gave him and she felt relieved somehow. She was afraid it would made him angry or bitter or sad. She forgot Marco could be of the laid-back, serene type. Shrugging about things when he knew he couldn't do anything about them.

And that's exactly what he did at the time. "What can I say?" He shrugged, carrying on. "I miss it sometimes, sure. But then I remind myself of all the other things I have to take care of aboard this empire of a ship and… And I feel glad you and Bern are here. Taking this weight off my shoulders. I believe I'm grateful now." He smiled at her, this heart-warming lopsided smile. "Besides, I'm called to help sometimes so… I can still be a doctor, if only a bit."

Yeah… Once again she smiled, drifting back to sleep. She guessed he was still one of the Moby's doctors after all.

* * *

The black top hat was the first thing to enter her vision. "Afternoon Jillian! I brought you books, as requested."

The woman had awaken feeling better and had quickly found herself idle. Bored, even. So she had pestered Marco until he finally had allowed her to occupy herself with some readings. Izo being busy, Vista had volunteered to retrieve what the doctor needed.

"Yes! Thanks!" she said taking the pile of medical journals from his hands. "I hope Thatch didn't draw or cut anything in these ones."

"No, I checked for it. All clear." Vista smiled at her. "Do you need anything else?"

"No I'm all good, thanks."

Nodding, he briefly brought a hand to his hat before exiting as silently as he came in. Vista, ever the gentleman, not a word too many.

She was still trying to read about the latest medical news from North Blue when an unexpected visitor came all the way down to the infirmary to see her.

"Hello there Jillian!" He waved at his children calling his name.

"Edward!" she exclaimed, promptly straightening up, letting her journal fall on her lap. "Oh, I think I'm a mess, sorry," she went on, sliding a hand on the top of her head, trying to smoothen her hasty ponytail. She pulled at her gown, sitting even straighter. Her white coat was nowhere to be seen. _So unprofessional_.

Whitebeard must have sensed her nervousness because he let out a booming laugh that echoed in her ribcage. "Gurararara! No need to fret, Jillian!"

"Ah right," the woman finally sighed with a small smile. Her captain walked around her bed to come and sit by her side. The wooden stool creaked under the sudden weight.

They looked at each other for a while before Jill broke the silence. "Are you okay? Do you need anything?"

The old man's lips stretched into an amused smile. "Shouldn't I be the one asking you that?"

"Right. I'm the injured pirate this time." She rolled her eyes and he laughed again.

"Marco kept me up to date yet I thought you might get a little lonely in here." He shrugged and his eyes fell on her lap. "But it seems like I interrupted your reading… In that case, I'll let you go back to-"

"No no, it's fine!" She cut him, putting a hand on his massive arm, preventing him from standing further up. "I still can't concentrate long enough to understand it all anyway."

"Are you in pain?" Whitebeard frowned.

"No, not anymore. But it's another downside of a concussion. It probably won't last but for now my brain doesn't really like being overwhelmed with this much written information." She waved the journal in her hand. "But I'll go crazy if I have to look at the ceiling for another minute, so… Brain overload it is!" She chuckled and Whitebeard joined her, sympathetic.

"And… What if I read it to you?"

Silence ensued for several seconds before Jill realised what the pirate offered.

"What? No… You…" But her captain had already taken one of the medical journals from her hands. He rummaged in one of the pockets of his heavy jacket, taking out a pair of glasses she knew to be magnifying ones. Spreading the newspaper in one of his gigantic palm, he cleared his throat.

"Let's see… 'Taking the bull by the horns: Patient trampled by bull requiring surgical fixation of multiple rib fractures including rib 11'." His eyes rose from the journal and Jillian laughed at the look he gave her.

She scratched her forehead. "Edward, you really don't have to…"

"Rib fractures are among the most common injuries following blunt trauma. They occur in approximately 10% of all traumatically injured patients and are associated with significant pulmonary-related morbidity and mortality. Although vast improvements have been made in the care of rib fracture patients, including surgical stabilization of rib fractures (SSRF), outcomes for this population still remain…" Whitebeard went on, not minding her embarrassment.

And there went the end of both their afternoon, spent reading and listening to weird case reports; Whitebeard on a more comfortable chair some nurse had brought, Jillian comfortably laid back in her bed, joyfully commenting every time her captain stumbled or frowned over a word, giving him simpler explanations.

When Thatch came down the galley with their doctor's dinner he was stopped at the infirmary entrance by a smiling Marco. The Phoenix spun in his chair, putting a finger over his lips, silently asking the Chef to keep quiet before nodding towards Jill's bed. The curtain was drawn but they both could hear the woman's laughter and their father's rumbling. Thatch smiled in turn. He put the tray he held down on the desk and sat beside it, by Marco's side, keen on enjoying the moment too.

* * *

It had been a week and two days since the attack. Namur and his division had already finished their repairs on the damaged railing and deck. The Moby Dick was sailing smoothly towards their next stop, no enemies or storm in sight for the next few hours. Jillian was still stuck in the infirmary.

Most of her concussion's consequences were now gone and she was just waiting for her bruise to heal enough Marco could finally give her the green light. She was done with the physio and could only rely on her medical journals and her staff to entertain her and prevent her from a spontaneous combustion due to work deprivation. Sometimes she thought she could feel the gears inside her head squeaking, as if rust was corroding her brain. She needed new cases, patients to tend to or else she'd be left with nothing but that dull piece of ceiling and her growing anxiety.

Joan came in with the supplies to renew the cooling and healing balm that had been spread over her belly. The usually gleeful blond nurse had been giving her the cold shoulder for the past few days, only doing what was professionally necessary before busying herself elsewhere. Jillian didn't know what was bothering her but she sensed it somehow had to do with her current predicament.

As the woman massaged her bruise a bit too harshly, an imprinted frown on her forehead, the doctor grimaced. "Couldn't you be a bit gentler?"

Joan covered her patient's belly with a huff before removing her surgical gloves. "Unlike the whole crew on that damn ship, I don't think you need to be coddled," she said, her tone even as she busied herself writing something down in Jillian's file.

The woman sat up straight, surprised. "Have I done something to upset you?"

"Do you need me to make a list?"

"What's wrong Joan?"

"What's wrong? How about everything?" Her voice was shaking with rage as she made a helpless gesture.

"How could you _dare_ being so reckless? Running on the battlefield with no protection _whatsoever_. Endangering yourself without even thinking it through. Do you have a death wish or something? And to think I believed you were level-headed enough to avoid making such stupid mistakes."

She shook her head, astonished and Jillian saw a change in her nurse's eyes, like a dam breaking, a strong wave of anger just about to finally wash over her. And it did happen.

"They say there's no need to blame you, they say you already do that. Well _I_ blame you! You're my boss. You're this ship _doctor_ and yet you're the one that got injured. You're the one who laid unconscious on a cot for twenty four hours straight. That's wrong!"

"Okay, enough," Jillian said. She wasn't mad or hurt. Because she heard it, behind the anger. She heard the worry, the fear, the helplessness. And she understood. Joan had worked for years on the mini Moby stationed in Paradise, taking things under her control, managing her own team even as a nurse. She only made it back to the Moby Dick once Bern chose to retire to Paradise. From all her staff, Joan had probably been with her the longest.

"Let's make things clear: helping Barton was not a mistake. I couldn't have avoided the enemy even if I had wanted to. Maybe I was too focused on my patient and forgot my surroundings. But I assessed the situation and chose and acted consequently. You were all doing great by yourselves. You were handling things perfectly. And it's because I trusted all of you that I could put myself out there,"–she gestured towards the door–"without a close backup. I got there, I tried to help Barton and got injured in the process. Well, I'm sorry you had to learn it this way but yes, sometimes bad things happen even to the head of the medical staff."

She shrugged, giving Joan some time to process her words. "Of course I still blame myself for it, but it's no one's fault really. Yet, you have every right to be pissed. You're also allowed to express your fury even if it won't change a thing. As long as it helps you getting over it."

Not wanting to meet her gaze that soon after, she realised the woman was still tightly squeezing a roll of gauze in one of her fists. Jillian took that fist in her own hands and smiled. "Thank you Joan for your anger, your worry and your very own way of caring. I'm sorry I had to put you all through this but I'm grateful you're the one I got to rely on."

When it seemed clear enough that the blond woman was at loss for words, Jillian gently patted her hand before laying back down, a mischievous grin stretching her face.

"So now please stop being a bitch and start being gentler with the patient under your care," she finally said, gesturing towards herself.

* * *

Of course the crew threw a party to celebrate her comeback. Thatch had chosen a barbecue, grilling the Sea King Namur and some crewmembers had fished out earlier that day. Ace wasn't far, ready to either give him a flaming hand or stuff his face. Haruta was playing his fiddle as some of his division members were singing racy shanties.

Jillian had given her girls their night off and she was happy to see all of her crewmates enjoying their evening. She had joined them of course, for a few songs and drinks, intercalating them with some quiet times near the railing. After almost two weeks in the infirmary with a limited numbers of visitors, being so close to everyone made her head spin slightly. Fortunately it had nothing to do with the concussion anymore and more with the overflowing alcohol and joyful atmosphere.

She was leaning against the wooden railing, looking at the cloudy sky, trying to spot some stars in the dark of the night. Izo had offered her a cup of his finest _sake_ with a wink. The cup was empty now but she could still feel its burning heat on her cheeks despite the gentle and fresh wind caressing her face. They were sailing at a steady pace, eager to rejoin the meeting place where they would finally be reunited with a part of the crew they hadn't seen in months.

She would be lying if she said she didn't feel shivers down her spine when she first crossed the deck and passed by the spot where she had been attacked a handful of days before. At least she didn't crumble or break down or threw up or worse. She was a doctor. PTSD wasn't unknown to her. Recovery took time, but knowing it didn't make things easier.

She let out a sigh, looking at her empty cup as Namur approached her. This evening, each and every commander had come to be by her side, be it to talk or to simply watch the horizon with her. She didn't know if they had received instructions of some sort – like Marco's secret and final order before giving her back her position – but it warmed something inside her chest anyway.

"What are you doing?" the Eight Division commander wondered.

"Building bridges," she replied honestly.

"What?"

"Nevermind…" She smiled. "How can I help you?"

"Oh I just wanted to hear the hum of the sea," he said, leaning more heavily than she did to look at the Moby's hull splitting the calm water, the foam clinging to the wooden planks. The fish-man closed his eyes, as if he was actually listening to something else than just the usual sounds of the sea.

She turned her back to the railing, looking at the party. Thatch was roasting marshmallows now. Ace was by the Captain's side, probably listening to another story from the golden era of piracy. The 'doomed spot' was in the left corner of her vision. Her heart rate suddenly increased. She wished her cup wasn't empty. She faced the water once again, letting the wind play with her hair.

"My brother used to say that," Jillian finally said to the open sea, brushing loose strands out of her face. "Whenever I threw a tantrum as the youngest or we had to face some hardships on our own, Tom would look at me and say 'Okay, go ahead, cry a river. But then build a bridge and get over it!'" She chuckled. "It might seems super harsh hearing that from the outside. But I know it was his awkward way of caring and taking care of me. I mean, he practically raised me on his own… I'm far from home now, but I still hear his voice." She smiled at the horizon as Namur raised his head to look at her. He knew he should probably say something now but he couldn't find anything. Human psychology wasn't his _forte_. He opened his mouth but Jillian went on.

"I don't have to try _that_ hard to leave it all behind though. I'm busy enough with the likes of you." She looked at him with the fondest of smiles before her eyes briefly strayed behind him. "But sometimes… Sometimes it rushes back to me and it's a bit hard to bear. So yeah, I'm still in the middle of building that damn bridge."

Once again, Namur was left speechless. The wind veered off, bringing them the lively air Haruta was playing along with laughter, clapping hands and clinking glasses. A calm evening, full of life. A sail flapped above their heads as they could feel the rocking of the waves under their feet. Namur finally cleared his throat.

"Well, if one day you lack nails or planks, don't be afraid to come and ask, hm?"

She wasn't sure his words held any double meaning but she thanked him anyway, smiling, grateful. He patted her shoulder in a friendly yet clumsy manner and she could almost hear "Good talk" before he walked away, going back to the epicentre of the rumbling party.

She let out a breathy laugh once he was gone. Bloody pirates!

**Author's Note:**

> First posted on FF.net, now edited and reposted here with the proper tags. 
> 
> I remember starting this one during NaNoWriMo 2018 and finishing it in August 2019.  
> I was working on another one shot for the NaNo but the revelations about Marco's position in chapter 909 were giving me quite a headache (as I first wrote Jillian being the crew's doctor).  
> I woke up Sunday 11/18 with Hozier's choir's trills on his cover version of "Say my name" playing inside my head (that concert in Paris was amazing) and suddenly a few things fell into place about Marco and Jillian, and there I was, definitely needing to write it down.  
> After work, I've spent whole bus rides listening to 'Research 26.2', totally absorbed by that one shot, seeing scenes taking shape right in front of my eyes. One of the best "writing experience" (and bus experience ah) I've had so far.
> 
> More than a year after, I still love this one very fondly.  
> I was afraid it would be a bit too much, but hey, who am I to tame my characters when they choose to indulge in my love for hurt/comfort scenes, huh?  
> Plus dumping headcanons was great.
> 
> Jillian calling Whitebeard "Edward" is one of my favourite thing. Marco tied her to the bed with seastone because her home island was extracting some (hence the home comment). 
> 
> **'Taking the bull by the horns: Patient trampled by bull requiring surgical fixation of multiple rib fractures including rib 11'** is an existing medical article written by Zachary M. Bauman and available in open access through the journal 'Trauma Case Reports' of August 2018 (DOI: 10.1016/j. tcr. 2018.07.005).
> 
> Thanks for dropping by! Feedback is welcome and cherished here so don't be shy.
> 
> Take care,  
> Lily.


End file.
